


i hate you; i don't hate you

by carefulren



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Sick Grantaire, Sickfic, pre-enjoltaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 02:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13378611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulren/pseuds/carefulren
Summary: Enjolras and Grantaire don't get along as roommates, but when Enjolras leaves a sick Grantaire to hang out with friends, he can't stop thinking about the damn idiot until he's left ditching out on a fun night to get back to his roommate, not because he cares or anything...





	i hate you; i don't hate you

Enjolras manages to keep quiet as he gets ready to go out with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, but after the sixth or seventh sneeze from his roommate, he caves with a loud sigh as he looks into his full length mirror to smooth down his sweater. 

“You’re going to spread your germs all over our room, Grantaire.” He says, flicking his gaze to watch Grantaire’s rather pathetic form on their small dorm couch through the mirror. 

Grantaire presses another tissue to his nose and sneezes sharply into it, shoulders shaking from the force. “I’ll try not to.” He rasps out, and Enjolras arches both brows at this. 

It’s common knowledge that he and Grantaire are not that fond of one another; to put it simply, they hate each other. But, they couldn’t swap rooms, no matter how much either argued with the college’s dorm advisor. So, on a normal day, this conversation would have ended with Grantaire running around the room and breathing on everything, doing everything in his power to drive Enjolras up a wall, but the brunet seems genuine in his words right now. Enough to have Enjolras turning away from the mirror with a frown. 

He watches Grantaire keep one tissue pressed gently to his nose as he remains hunched over an art book resting in his lap. Grantaire’s off right now, Enjolras thinks, different, and a twinge of confusion plays on his face as he moves to grab his dorm keys off the small key-holder on the wall. He contemplates pressing the brunet further, almost wanting their usual banter to fill this silent void between the two, but his phone chiming in alert of a text has him moving toward the door instead. 

“I’m going out,” he says, knowing full and well how obvious that is but saying so as if inviting the brunet to call him out on the stupid statement. 

But, Grantaire only mutters a quiet “have fun” around a weak cough that has Enjolras ripping the door open a little too hard and storming out of the room. 

*****

“Did the sidewalk do something to you?” 

Enjolras snaps his gaze toward Combeferre and quirks one brow in silent question. 

“You’ve been glaring at it with your arms crossed for ten minutes now. You look like you’ve got some personal grudge against it.” 

Enjolras drops both hands to his sides with a sigh. He shakes his head, watching his breath cloud in the air in front of him. “I’m just annoyed at Grantaire,” he admits, voice still holding a slight trace of heat around the defeat coloring his tone. 

“What did he do now?” Combeferre asks as Courfeyrac leaves his spot beside Combeferre to move to the other side of Enjolras. 

“He just,” Enjolras starts waving one hand about in a weak gesture as he searches for what to say. “Nevermind,” he closes with another shake of his head. “I don’t want to think about him right now.”

“Then stop,” Courfeyrac says with a teasing smile as he nudges Enjolras with his shoulder. 

*****

Enjolras does try to stop; he really does. He doesn’t want to think about Grantaire. He doesn’t want to think about that stupid brunet with his stupid green eyes, and stupid art, and stupid raspy voice, and stupid sneezes, and stupid coughs, and stupid-

“Enjolras!” 

Enjolras jumps slightly and shoots a sharp gaze toward Combeferre. “Don’t yell in a restaurant,” he spits out. 

“Then get out of your head and join us,” Combeferre says back, voice calm yet holding a dangerous heat that has Enjolras shrinking back in his chair. 

“E, you were staring at your fettuccine for, like, five minutes,” Courfeyrac adds, face pulled together in a small hint of concern. “What did Grantaire do that’s got you like this?”

Nothing, Enjolras thinks. The brunet has done absolutely nothing, and that’s the problem. He’s just at their dorm all sniffling and sneezing and acting like a normal human for once, and it’s driving Enjolras crazy.  

He’s out of his seat before his mind catches up to the present. 

“Enjolras?” 

Enjolras spares Combeferre and Courfeyrac a quick, apologetic gaze. “Sorry. I just need to go.” He spins on his heel and maneuvers through the restaurant as quickly as he can. He can physically feel two worried gazes drilling holes into his back, but he ignores both as he snags his coat from the coat rack in the front of the restaurant and shoves the doors open. 

*****

The dorm is quiet when Enjolras gets back. He closes the door as softly as possible before turning slowly to stare at Grantaire. At some point, the brunet had given up on his reading and is now curled up on the couch asleep. Enjolras wouldn’t think much of it if it weren’t for the shivers wracking the brunet’s frame or the clear discomfort painted across the brunet’s face. 

He slips out of his coat and hangs his keys up before he crosses the dorm to crouch in front of the couch. From this close, he can see a glaring flush spread across Grantaire’s cheeks, a flush that wasn’t there when he left only an hour ago. 

He lifts one hand and allows it to hover in front of Grantaire’s face for an endless moment before he finally brushes the backs of his fingers against Grantaire’s cheek. The evident heat has his lips pulling into a deep frown just as Grantaire’s eyes snap open, green irises wide, wild, and very confused. 

“It’s just me,” Enjolras says quickly as he pulls his hand away. He watches as understanding colors Grantaire’s eyes before the brunet moves into a sitting position with a few weak coughs. 

“You should probably not be so close to me.” 

Enjolras ignores this in favor of dropping onto the couch beside the brunet. “You’re running a fever.” 

“I know,” Grantaire says before turning to sneeze sharply into the crook of his arm. “That’s why you should stay away from me.” He adds, pressing his knuckles to his nose as he sniffles. 

Enjolras can only stare as Grantaire shivers and massages his forehead with one hand. He chews on his lower lip for a moment, contemplating the best course of action, then gets to his feet with a sigh. He extends one hand toward the brunet. “Come on.” 

Grantaire is slow to look up. “What?” 

“I’ll help you to bed. It will be warmer and more comfortable.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you’re sick.” Enjolras answers as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“You hate me,” Grantaire spits back weakly, and Enjolras’s face falters, but his hand remains outstretched and unyielding. 

“Well, let’s call truce for right now. You’re really sick, R.” 

Grantaire takes Enjolras’s hand with a slight cough. “R?” He questions as Enjolras pulls him to his feet. “You never call me R.” 

“Hush,” Enjolras says back, yet his tone carries no heat. He leads the brunet toward his bed and helps him get settled under the covers. 

“Do you need anything?” He questions, frowning as Grantaire buries his face in his blanket as a sneezing fit takes hold. 

“No,” Grantaire mutters along a groan when his sneezing tampers off. 

Enjolras nods and watches as Grantaire slips into sleep in an instant. He stays rooted in his spot for an endless moment, merely watching the slow rise and fall of Grantaire’s chest as he plans what to do. Medicine should be a must, he tells himself, glancing toward their small kitchen area. And water. Maybe, he thinks, a damp cloth for Grantaire’s head? 

“I’m not dying, E.” 

Enjolras snaps his head back toward the brunet, who he had thought was asleep. He plans his reply, smirking slightly. “E?”

“Hush,” Grantaire rasps out. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey look; it's me. Back for the, what is it, third night in a row? I promise I'm almost done, lol


End file.
